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OF 

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OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


"  She  lingered  awhile  in  her  favorite  seat 

By  a  window  that  overlooked  the  street."  —  PAGE  10. 


THE    BABY'S    THINGS 


A  STORY  IN  VERSE 


FOR 


CHRISTMAS    EVE, 


BY 
EDWARD     ABBOTT, 


NEW   YORK: 
ANSON  D.  F.  RANDOLPH  &  COMPANY, 

77O    BROADWAY, 
COB.  9TH  STREET. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1871,  by 

ANSON  D.  F.  RANDOLPH  &  COMPANY, 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress  at  Washington. 


E.O.JENKINS.  ROBERT     BUTTER, 

PRINTER    AND     STEREOTYPER,  BINDER, 

20  N.  WILLIAM   ST..   N.  Y.  M    BS6K«»»    SIKIST,  K.  1. 


I, 


623773 


10  THE   BABY  S   THINGS. 


The  work  of  the  day  had  been  laid  aside, 
And  now,  in  the  edge  of  the  eventide,  ' 
She  lingered  awhile  in  her  favorite  seat 
By  a  window  that  overlooked  the  street, 
Silent  and  thoughtful,  dreamy  and  sad ; 
Strangely  so  for  a  time  so  glad. 
But  the  somber  hue  of  the  dress  she  wore, 
And  the  look  of  sorrow  her  features  bore, 
Showed  that  it  had  been  hers  to  know 
The  weight  of  a  Father's  chastening  blow. 

There  she  sat  leaning  and  looking  away 
Over  the  snow  that  covered  the  ground, 
Over  the  buildings  that  clustered  round, 
Over  the  hills  that  rose  beyond, 

At  the  lingering  sunset's  rich  display. 

She  watched  the  shapes  as  they  came  and  went, 
The  sinking  sun  as  his  brightness  spent, 


THE   BABY  S   THINGS.  I  I 


And  as  she  watched  the  scene  seemed  changed, 

And  forms  and  colors  were  re-arranged, 

Until  a  glimpse,  as  she  fancied,  came 

Of  the  heavenly  city  —  Jerusalem; 

The  city  that  knew  no  setting  sun, 

No  dawning  day  and  no  night  begun, 

The  glory  of  God  its  unfading  light, 

And  the  Lamb  that  was   slain   its   radiance 

bright. 

Nor  did  fancy  end  its  painting  here  : 
The  picture  became  more  full  and  clear. 
The  cloudy  masses  that  banked  the  sky 
Were  the  walls  of  the  city  great  and  high  ; 
In  the  glowing  bars  she  would  fain  behold 
The  streets  of  the  city  of  shining  gold  ; 
The  fragments  outlined  with  graceful  curl 
Stood  for  the  several  gates  of  pearl ; 
And  the  mellow  twilight -that  round  her  shone 
Seemed  the  light  of  the  precious  jasper  stone. 


12  THE  BABY'S  THINGS. 


Just  one  year  ago  this  Christmas  Eve 

(How  could  the  mother  do  else  than  grieve  ?) 

Her  baby  died — a  beautiful  boy  ; 

Her  welcome  care  and  her  constant  joy. 

In  an  hour  such  as  she  little  thought 

The  summons  came,  and  the  child  was  not. 

The  year  had  passed,  but  sorrow  still 

Remained  the  mother's  cup  to  fill, 

And  now  as  the  festal  hour  returned, 

And  her  heart  with  fresh  affection  burned, 

Her  loss  seemed  greater  than  before — 

Her  burden  increasing  more  and  more. 

So  as  she  lingered  and  looked  away 

At  the  winter  sunset's  rich  display, 

The  city  which  fancy  had  wrought"  afar 

Out  of  cloudy  bank  and  curl  and  bar, 

Became  the  home  of' her  angel  child, 

And  the  thought  her  sorrow  in  part  beguiled. 


THE  BABY'S  THINGS.  13 


A  moment  more  and  the  sun  went  down 
Behind  the  hills  that  engirt  the  town, 
And  its  fading  beams  began  to  weave 
The  welcome  shadows  of  Christmas  Eve. 


II. 


20  THE   BABY  S   THINGS. 

Oh,  what  a  flood  of  reflections  brings 
The  sight  of  a  dear  dead  baby's  things  ! 
The  snow-white  slips,  so  simple  and  neat ; 
Socks  that  would  do  for  a  cherub's  feet ; 
Blankets  of  flannel,  so  soft  and  warm, 
Against  the  chill  of  the  winter's  storm  ;    . 
Wrappers  of  muslin,  so  thin  and  cool, 
For  the  days  of  the  sultry  summer's  rule  ; 
The  jaunty  cap,  with  its  crisp  rosette ; 
The  quilted  jacket  of  satinet ; 
The  gossamer  veil  to  shield  the  face ; 
The  dainty  shoes  with  their  ties  in  place  ; 
The  zephyr  sacks  with  their  borders  bright ; 
The    cloak    with    its    cape,    so    warm     but 

light ; 

Every  possible  color  and  hue, 
Crimson  and  orange,  purple  and  blue  ; 
Oh,  this  was  a  wardrobe  rich  and  fair 
As  ever  a  baby  boy  did  wear ! 


Pjidlrail 

;*>->  isustf;  —-f'Hiif >;;i) 


1  Thus  sat  the  mother  this  Christmas  Eve, 

Bending  over  the  bureau  drawer  "  —  PAGE  21. 


THE  BABY'S  THINGS.  21 


Thus  sat  the  mother  this  Christmas  Eve, 
Bending  over  the  bureau  drawer, 
Turning  its  contents  o'er  and  o'er, 
Examining  every  little  sleeve, 
Smoothing  out  fondly  the  flowing  skirts, 
Opening  and  folding  the  knitted  shirts, 
Sadly  caressing  the  empty  shoes, 
Assorting  the  little  socks  by  twos, 
Spreading  the  wrappers  upon  her  knees, 
Stroking  the  blankets'  silky  frieze, 
And  dropping  on  every  garment  dear 
The  fresh  perfume  of  a  tender  tear. 
There  they  had  lain  from  the  very  day 
That  the  baby  died  ;  and  to  give  away 
These  things  for  some  other  child  to  wear, 
Was  a  thought  the  mother  could  never  bear. 

True,  they  were  useless  lying  there. 

She  might  never  want  them  herself  again. 


22  THE   BABY  S   THINGS. 


Some  at  least  she  might  easily  spare, 

And  let  the  rest  in  their  place  remain. 
What  a  godsend  even  a  few  would  be, 
To  many  a  child  of  poverty  ! 

This  had  always  been  her  thought  before 

Whenever  she  looked  the  bureau  through  ; 

And  to-night  the  thought  returned  anew, 
As  she  handled  the  little  garments  o'er. 
And  seeing  them  placed  in  layers  even — 

Without    spot,    or   wrinkle,    or    any  such 
thing, 

Smoothed  as  if  by  an  angel's  wing, 
And  cleansed  as  if  by  a  breath  from  heav 
en — 

She  was  led  to  think  of  moth  and  rust, 
Of  thieves  and  fire  and  damp  and  dust, 
And  to  feel  that  treasures  are  not  enjoyed 
Unless  in  generous  ways  employed. 


THE  BABY'S  THINGS.  23 


There    was    Margaret    Mills,    the     carver's 

wife, 

Did  ever  one  lead  a  harder  life  ? 
Her    husband's    earnings    were     quite     too 

scant 

To  supply  in  full  their  daily  want ; 
And  with  all  her  children  now  to  rear, 
Her  time  of  sorrow  again  drew  near. 
What  could  a  baby  hope  to  find 

For  itself  in  an  already  crowded  nest  ? 
Its  needs  would  be  great,  all  hearts  would  be 

kind, 
But  now  there  was  scarcely  enough  for  the 

rest. 

Poor  Margaret !     Many  a  heavy  sigh 
She    had    uttered,   when    no    one    else   was 

nigh, 

To  think  of  the  new  life  soon  to  come 
Into  her  empty  and  cheerless  home  ; 


24  THE  BABY'S  THINGS. 


And   she   wondered   what    she  should   ever 

do 
If  God  should  carry  her  safely  through. 

All  this  the  mother  remembered  well 

As  she  lingered  under  the  bureau's  spell. 

In  many  a  generous  way,  indeed, 

She  had  proved  herself  a  friend  in  need  ; 

And  at  this  hour  the  thought  would  rise, 

As  she  wiped  the  tears  from  her  brimming 

eyes, 

How  much  better  every  way  't  would  be 
To  follow  the  bidding  of  Charity, 
And  make  up  for  Margaret  Mills,  poor  soul ! 
Out  of  these  garments  a  bountiful  roll. 
But  no  sooner  did  such  a  thought  occur, 
Than  a  motherly  instinct  would  demur. 
She  pitied  the  poor :  she  would  gladly  give 
Of  her  ample  substance  to  help  them  live ; 


THE  BABY'S  THINGS.  25' 


Money  and  time  she  would  cheerfully  spend, 
And  other  assistance  with  pleasure  lend 
To  relieve  their  wants  and  their  sorrows  ease  , 
But  she  could  not  part  with  such  things  as 
these. 


III. 


III. 


PONDERING  thus  the  present  and  past 

As  the  winter  twilight  faded  fast, 

Over  the  sorrowing  mother's  soul, 

Sleep  and  a  vision  gently  stole. 

She  seemed  to  have  gone  to  a  distant  clime, 

Back,  far  back,  in  a  former  time. 

The  hour  was  early  in  the  night, 

And  the  sky  was  filled  with  a  wondrous  light, 

In  the  midst  of  which  one  shining  star 

Scattered  its  glorious  beams  afar, 

While  on  her  ear  rose  loud  and  long 

A  joyful  chorus  of  heavenly  song. 

She  had  entered,  borne  by  urgent  feet, 

A  town  on  the  hill-side.     All  the  street 

(31) 


32  THE  BABY'S  THINGS. 


Was  filled  with  a  busy,  roving  throng, 
Which  hardly  sne  made  her  way  among. 
Yonder  she  noticed  a  crowded  inn — 
Her  ear  could  easily  catch  its  din ; 
While  just  beyond  was  a  rocky  cave — 
What  a  glory  lit  up  its  rough-hewn  nave  ! 
A  mother  was  lying  there  at  rest, 
With  a  babe  asleep  on  her  pillowy  breast. 
Her  husband  stood  wondering  at  her  side, 
Looking  with  Love  on  his  virgin  bride  ; 
It  was — there  was  no  mistaking  them — 
It  was  the  manger  of  Bethlehem  ! 
Yes,  there  were  the  shepherds  out  of  the  field, 
Who  had  left  their  flocks  with  none  to  shield  ; 
And  there  were  the  wise  men  out  of  the  East, 
Rejoiced  that  their  pilgrimage  had  ceased  ; 
The  infant  Jesus  she  really  saw  ; 
Was  it  strange  that  her  soul  should  thrill  with 
awe  ? 


THE  BABY'S  THINGS.  33 


But  strangely  enough  she  seemed  to  see, 
As  she  neared  the  sleeping  child,  that  He 
Who  should  call  his  own  neither  house  nor 

lands 

Was  now  without  even  swaddling  bands. 
Her  Lord  in  need  ?     In  a  moment  more 
She  had  opened  wide  the  bureau  drawer, 
And  (dreaming  still)  searched  its  contents 

o'er 

With  generous  purpose  and  eager  hands. 
"  There  is  nothing,"  she  cried,  "  I  would  not 

spare 

"  For  the  Babe  of  Bethlehem  to  wear !" 
And  she  dared  to  hope  that  the  gift  thus  made, 
And  now  at  the  feet  of  the  young  child  laid, 
Would  be  as  worthy  a  gift  from  her    [myrrh. 
As  the    wise   men's   frankincense,   gold   and 

A  moment  more  and  the  vision  went. 


34  THE  BABY'S  THINGS. 


The  mother  woke  with  a  sudden  start". 
The  winter  twilight  was  fully  spent, 
The  moon  had  begun  her  slow  ascent, 

And  the  heaven  was  starred  in  every  part. 
The  scene  before  her  had  passed  away 
With  the  last  dull  tints  of  the  parting  day, 
While  instead  before  her  very  eyes 
The  figure  of  Margaret  seemed  to  rise ; 
And  at  that  moment  she  thought  she  heard, 
Out  of  the  stillness,  the  heavenly  word : 
"  What  shall  it  profit  to  say  to  the  poor 
"  '  Depart  in  peace  from  my  generous  door,' 
"  While  notwithstanding  ye  give  them  naught 
"  Of  the   needful   things   for   which   they've 

sought? 
"•  If  to  one  of  the  least  of  these  is  done, 

"  Naked  or  hungry,  a  deed  of  love, 
"  It  is  done  to  Jesus  on  the  throne, 

"  And  accepted  by  Him  who  reigns  above." 


THE  BABY'S  THINGS.  35 


Then  the  mother  saw  how  her  risen  Lord 
Stood  ready  to  take  her  at  her  word. 
If  Margaret  needed,  it  was  His  need  ; 
In  her  mute  appeal  she  heard  Him  plead; 
Who  could  resist  such  a  tender  call, 
When  the  sacrifice  was  so.  very  small  ? 


IV. 


"  Down  the  snowy  and  blustering  street, 
Past  the  policeman  on  his  beat."  —  PAGE  41. 


IV. 


OUT  from  her  dwelling,  and  down  the  street, 
The  mother  hastened  with  eager  feet. 

| 

She  carried  a  bundle  in  her  hand, 

The  happiest  woman  in  all  the  land. 

The  plentiful  snow  lay  all  around, 

And  the  wind  rushed  by  with  a  dreary  sound, 

But  she  minded  neither  the  night  nor  cold, 

Her  errand  sufficing  to  make  her  bold. 

Down  the  snowy  and  blustering  street, 

Past  the  policeman  on  his  beat, 

Under  the  gas-lamp's  flickering  light, 

By  the  shop-windows  frosty  and  bright, 

Meeting  many  but  noticing  none — 

Bent  on  her  errand  of  love  alone, 

(41) 


42  THE  BABY'S  THINGS. 


Over  the  river,  icy  and  chill, 
Along  in  the  shadow  of  the  mill, 
And  so  at  last  to  an  alley-way, 
Dark  at  best  in  the  light  of  day, 
Where,  in  a  tenement  old  and  poor, 
Margaret  lived  on  an  upper  floor. 

Quickly  she  opened  the  outer  door, 

And  ridding  her  feet  of  the  clinging  snow, 

Made  haste  up  the  narrow  stairs  to  go. 

Up  several  flights  and  through  the  halls 

She  groped  her  way  by  the  friendly  walls. 

Margaret's  door  she  easily  found, 

And  gave  a  knock  with  a  ringing  sound  : 

She  was  hardly  surprised  that  the  first  reply 

Which  her  summons  met  was  a  baby's  cry  ! 

Crowded  the  room — it  must  serve  for  all, 
Father  and  mother  and  children  small. 


THE  BABY'S  THINGS.  43 


Kitchen  and  parlor,  chamber  and  shop, 

'T  was  long  since  the  floor  had  known  the 

mop  ; 

The  plastering,  cracked,  had  begun  to  drop, 
The  windows  were  narrow,  the  ceiling  low, 

The  air  was  close,  and  the  only  light 
In  the  room  was  the  fire's  paling  glow, 

Making  itself  by  a  contrast  bright. 
There,  in  the  corner,  Margaret  lay, 
With  her  babe  beside  her,  born  that  day. 
Poor  little  thing  !     It  had  cried  with  cold 
Before  it  was  scarcely  an  hour  old  ; 
Its  lot  had  been  cast  in  a  dreary  clime, 
And  its  birthday  set  in  a  wintry  time  ; 
And  so  what  this  mother  came  to  bring, 
Was  like  a  breath  of  the  genial  spring. 

Scarce  a  word  was  spoken.  The  babe  she  took, 
And,  pausing  to  give  it  one  fond  look, 


44  THE  BABY'S  THINGS. 


Seated  herself  by  the  dying  fire, 
And  deftly  put  on  its  new  attire. 
At  work  in  his  corner  the  father  kept, 
And  the  tired  children  all  soundly  slept, 
Save  one,  who  lying  upon  her  bed, 
So  managed  to  raise  her  eager  head 
As  to  watch  the  movements,  one  by  one, 
Till  the  work  of  dressing  was  wholly  done. 
Then  again  the  babe  was  laid  to  rest 
Close  to  its  mother's  sheltering  breast, 
And  when  she  beheld  the  garments  fair 
Which  her  little  one  was  now  to  wear — 
The  knitted  shirts  for  its  body  red, 
The  socks  for  its  twisting,  curling  feet, 
The  snow-white  slip,  so  simple  and  neat, 
And  the  blanket  around  its  furry  head — 
Her  heart  was  filled  with  a  sweet  content, 
And  she  said  to  herself :  "  The  Lord  hath  sent 
His  servant  to  me  this  gift  to  bear." 


"  Seated  herself  by  the  dying  fire, 
And  deftly  put  on  its  new  attire."  —  PAGE  44. 


THE  BABY'S  THINGS.  45 


And  her  quick  thanksgiving  to  heaven  went, 
To  Him  who  had  made  her  wants  His  care. 

But  none  the  less  was  a  pleasure  given 
To  her  who  had  brought  the  welcome  gift, 
And  she  felt  constrained  her  heart  to  lift 

In  a  silent,  tearful  prayer  to  heaven. 

For  it  seemed  to  her  that  to  the  Lord 

She  had  made  this  gift  this  Christmas  Eve ; 

Would  He  be  true  to  His  spoken  word, 
She  asked  herself,  and  her  gift  receive  ? 


V. 


V. 


THE  hour  was  late  and  the  town  was  still 
When  the  mother  set  forth  on  her  home 
ward  way, 

Out  of  the  alley,  and  past  the  mill, 

And  through  the  streets  where  the  moon 
beams  lay. 

But  she  minded  neither  the  cold  nor  night : 

Her  step  was  firm  and  her  heart  was  light ; 

For  she  thought  of  the  babe  of  Bethlehem, 

And  held  that  her  errand  had  been  to  Him  ; 

Wondered  .that  she  had  so  long  refrained  ; 

Remembered  her  treasures  that  remained  ; 

Discovered  within  a  ready  mind 

Some  other  case  of  distress  to  find  ; 

(51) 


52  THE  BABY'S  THINGS. 


Saw  how'it  was  that  they  truly  live, 

Who,  freely  receiving,  freely  give ; 

And  resolved  that  henceforth  her  life  should 

be 
To  follow  the  bidding  of  Charity. 

Dear  reader,  this  world  of  ours  is  full 

Of  just  such  mothers,  and  Margarets  too. 
To  many,  life  is  one  long,  hard  pull, 

To   others,   a  want    would    be   something 

new. 
Here  is  the  over-stocked  bureau  drawer, 

And  there  is  the  empty,  suffering  home  ; 
Here  of  bread  there  is  plentiful  store, 

And  there  is  the  mouth  beseeching  some  ; 
And  to  bring  the  supply  to  those  who  need, 
The  naked  to  clothe  and  the  hungry  feed, 
Cool  water  to  give  from  the  springing  well  ;• 
To  go  to  the  prisoner  in  his  cell, 


THE  BABY'S  THINGS.  53 


To  visit  the  sick  on  the  bed  of  pain, 

The  benighted  stranger  to  entertain, 

And  wherever  a  want  is  seen  to  be, 

To  labor  to  meet  it  abundantly — 

To  do  all  this  for  the  dear  Lord's  sake, 

And  the  needed  sacrifice  gladly  make, 

This  it  is,  surely,  the  Lord  to  please, 

Even  if  done  to  the  least  of  these. 

Open  then  wide  the  friendly  door, 

Freely  part  with  the  treasured  store, 

Bend  the  ear  when  the  suffering  plead, 

Give  of  the  best  to  those  in  need, 

Let  nothing  too  good  or  too  sacred  be 

For  use  in  the  service  of  Charity  ; 

And  learn  as  one  lesson  for  Christmas  Eve, 

"  'Tis  more  blessed  to  give  than  to  receive." 


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